


Ask Me About My Uterus

by orphan_account



Series: What We Do In The Semidarkness [5]
Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Familiar Mallory, Fluff and Crack, Haiku, Humor, Menstruation, Vampire Michael, What We Do In The Shadows AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 21:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mallory menstruates. Michael infuriates.





	Ask Me About My Uterus

**Author's Note:**

> The plot and characters of American Horror Story: Apocalypse belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. 
> 
> I stole a line from the movie 10 Things I Hate About You (1999). 
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

They had the same routine every month—or they _did_: Mallory would stay home for the first three days of her period and rejoin the nest when things tapered off.

Michael’s blatantly deviating from the routine. _He never deviates from the routine_.

Mallory stands on her porch in her pajamas and watches dumbly as Madison’s familiar Travis crams Michael’s coffin through the doorway to her house and drags it into her living room. Michael’s already snooping inside doing God knows what. 

Finished with his task, Travis gives her a friendly wave and takes off the way he came, jogging out to his blue smart car and reversing down her driveway. She’s a little impressed that he managed the trip across town with the coffin strapped to his roof.

Cautiously, Mallory moves back inside and shuts the door behind her. Her eyes dart from left to right, but Michael’s nowhere to be found. The hair rises on the back of her neck. He’s watching her.

Mallory takes two steps forward and pauses. Nothing. Another three steps. Nothing. Inhaling a deep breath, she counts to three and pivots to the left.

He’s on her.

“GAH! Michael, what have I told you about sneaking around!” she yells. “What the hell are you doing in my house anyways?”

Michael smirks at her discomfort. _The ass_. 

“It’s come to my attention that I’ve been neglecting you during your bleeds, Mouse.”

Mallory doesn’t know what kind of response she was expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. Michael sways in close to her and inhales through his mouth. Tasting her. Ew. 

“Madison showed me this film about human mating rituals that was both heinous and informative. As a courtship gesture, I have come to help you through this trying time.”

Mallory feels a migraine coming on. She grits her teeth. “The only thing trying right now is you.”

Michael smirks, “come now, Mouse. Don’t play coy.” His lips hover close to hers. “You’ll have to surrender to your attraction to me some time,” he whispers.

“Because my stunning digestive pyrotechnics weren’t an indicator of how bad an idea that would be.” 

Michael wrinkles his nose and leans back out of her space. “Yes, well you’ll be happy to know that tequila and stomach acid can be removed by dry cleaning.”

Mallory clutches a hand to her chest and flutters her lashes. “Thank goodness. I would hate to deprive you of an opportunity to flash your plumage like a—”

Cramps have her doubling over in pain. “—Randy peacock,” she gasps.

Michael moves faster than her brain can register. As another wave of pain takes her, he picks her up bridal style and carries her over to the couch. 

“Rest assured, Mouse. I have just the thing to take the edge off. ” 

Michael lowers Mallory to the cushions, pulls an MP3 player out his slacks and plugs a set of headphones into her ears before she regains her equilibrium.

High pitched wailing floods Mallory’s head. “WHAT IS THIS?” she yells over the blaring noise.

Michael preens under her alarmed gaze. “Isn’t it wonderful? It’s me playing the Theremin. Madison suggested that I make you a ‘mixture-tape.’” 

_That horrid bitch_.

Mallory tries to smile but it’s more of a grimace. “HOW…NICE. MAYBE WE COULD LISTEN TO IT LATER?” 

Michael pouts but turns the racket off. Mallory heaves a sigh of relief. She has two seconds of blessed silence before cerulean eyes glitter with inspiration.

“Nourishment! Your vitality is waning. I shall prepare a meal to sustain your body as your womb sheds it’s lining!”

Mallory’s protests fall on deaf ears.

Michael strides off toward the kitchen and proceeds to wreak what she can only assume is havoc. She can hear him muttering to himself as he rifles through her fridge and cabinets.

The crack of a dish falling to the floor has Mallory resigning herself to her fate. She’ll meet death by food poisoning with clear eyes and an open heart.

_Are you there, God? It’s me Mallory. I’m sorry about the time that I called Vanessa a cum guzzling cunt in ninth grade. And the time that I pretended to return that makeup to the store without a receipt so that I could take it home without paying_. _Putting peanut butter in Michael’s shoes was also wrong, but it’s not my fault that that werewolf humped his leg. _

By the time that Mallory’s reviewed every misdeed from third grade onwards, Michael’s returned from his culinary sojourn with what appears to be…dry pasta with grated cheese?

His expectant eyes have Mallory reaching for the fork that he holds out to her. _Fuck his stupid face_.

“Mmm. Crunchy,” she says around a mouthful. Michael's smile is beaming. 

When Michael goes to get Mallory a napkin, she dumps the rest of the plate behind the couch. Whatever. She’ll worry about vacuuming if she survives this hostile invasion.

\--

Like most of their time spent together, the rest of the evening is weird and unsettling.

Michael presses himself against the wood of the bathroom door and recites haikus while Mallory changes her tampon. His best of the night:

Desirable, Eve

A human, shedding blood flushed

Down the toilet 

Michael lays his head in Mallory's lap while they watch re-runs of The Bachelor and plays with the edge of her shorts; her iron grip on his hair the only thing keeping him from rubbing his face in her crotch.

When Mallory asks for the ice cream in her freezer, Michael insists on spoon feeding her. She allows it, but draws the line at taking ibuprofen from his mouth like a baby bird.

And in the early hours of the morning, when they’re both rubbing their eyes with tiredness, Michael carries her off to bed.

\--

“Michael for the last fucking time, my legs still work!” Mallory hisses, bouncing on her mattress.

“Hush, Mouse. No squeaking, time for sleeping,” Michael sing-songs with a quirk of his mouth.

Mallory’s twists her lips, fighting a grin. “Cute.”

She smooths a hand over her lower abdomen and closes her eyes. Breath puffs over her inner thigh.

“You know, Mallory, there’s another thing proven to help menstrual pain.” Michael’s tongue darts over her skin, raising goose-bumps in it’s wake. “Peut-être que la petite mort aidera ma souris à dormir,” he purrs. 

"Rampez dans votre cercueil, botte en cuir.”

Michael chuckles, "tu parles tojours re comme un orc. Until tomorrow, ma petite puce.”

He leaves her with the soft press of his lips and the brush of a fang.

Mallory shivers in the dark. Dangerous want pulsing in her core. 

_That rat bastard._

**Author's Note:**

> French was done with google translate and fixed by iridescentrey!
> 
> Peut-être que la petite mort aidera ma souris à dormir= Maybe the little death will help my Mouse to sleep.
> 
> Rampez dans votre cercueil, botte en cuir= Crawl into your coffin leather boot.
> 
> Tu parles tojours comme un ork= You still speak like an orc.
> 
> Ma petite puce= My little flea (endearment).


End file.
